


One

by Diotima_Philosopher



Series: Catharsis [3]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25206832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diotima_Philosopher/pseuds/Diotima_Philosopher
Summary: If Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi are to die tomorrow, does it really matter what they do?
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Catharsis [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764220
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	One

The darkness had come, for night had fallen on this foreign planet. Through the tiny window on the highest part of the wall, the sky was purple-black, the strange stars cold and distant, begrudging with their light.

The only other illumination that they had been given by their captors was a single flickering oil-lamp, which shone golden on Obi-Wan’s fair hair, but did not reveal all the corners of their prison, which remained hidden in deep shadow.

Qui-Gon silently regarded his vulnerable Padawan, still recovering from his brutal head wound. His Padawan would, of course, expect a brilliant plan from his wise Master that would save both of them.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, wearily. For he had no plan.

And _everything_ was completely his own fault, after all.

The mission to Saauvamitton had been presumably an easy one. They had been sent to negotiate between the Banking Clan and the native Saauvamittion race, and the terms about the export of the Songsteel ore had already been pretty much settled. It had been only the matter of neither side trusting the other, so they had wanted a Jedi to look over the terms and to make sure that no one was cheating.

An _easy_ mission, but one that Qui-Gon did particularly not care for. There were many wrongs in the galaxy that seemed to him more pressing, many races and peoples who suffered under persecution or hardship, and the Jedi had chosen to send him like a haggling merchant to oversee an exchange of credits. Qui-Gon was sent to far too many of these type of missions, as it was commonly recognized among the Jedi, even by Mace Windu, who did not entirely approve of the maverick Qui-Gon, that Qui-Gon Jinn was so compassionate and so deeply understanding of the other’s point of view, that he could convince anyone of almost _anything._

But Qui-Gon did not _like_ these missions, as it seemed he was not serving those who actually needed him the most, but rather who had the most political influence with the Senate.

The other part that he could not fully admit to himself, was that now he _hated_ such easy and perfunctory missions because they did not create enough of a distraction between himself and Obi-Wan. Negotiating took a great deal of time, but for all those tiresome hours, they would always be forced to sit side by side, and to have to converse together.

And, of course, whenever they would be given quarters on such missions, they would always have to return together to sleep, and when they were alone there would be the strange silences between them, Obi-Wan as distant as a far planet, perfunctory and chilly in his replies. Qui-Gon could tolerate _that,_ but it hurt him to see the pain and hunger in Obi-Wan’s eyes. Qui-Gon could _feel_ Obi-Wan’s isolation, but he dared never reach out to him.

Better to go on a dangerous mission, and fight side by side with a lightsaber, fighting for the _good_! In such moments Qui-Gon could admire the greatness of his Padawan learner, and have the joy of doing right, and he could almost if not quite forget the tension that always lay between them.

So Qui-Gon had not cared for the mission to the Saauvamitton, but he had done his duty. He had done his research, prepared the subspace transport, and discussed with Obi-Wan the different points that they had to cover in the negotiations.

Obi-Wan, when briefed, had said only, “ _Another_ negotiation?” Being a respectful and dutiful Padawan, he did not complain, but perhaps his laconic question suggested he loathed those type of missions as well.

So Qui-Gon _had_ done his duty, but he had done so in a mechanical way, his mind preoccupied with his own atypical discontent.

He realized now, trapped in a prison in a foreign world, that he _should_ have treated this mission with the gravity and seriousness of any mission, despite its seeming simplicity.

The subspace engines had failed due to the unexpected flares of the sun in the system. It had only been Obi-Wan’s excellent piloting which had kept the crash from being more horrible than it had been.

They had never made it to Saauvamitton, but crash landed on another planet in the same system, marked on the charts simply as “Pyades” a planet swampy and supposedly uninhabited, so unimportant that it did not even merit commentary in the ship’s computer and seemingly belonged to no one.

It had been a stroke of luck that the atmosphere had been breathable, but they had been far _less_ lucky when they had been found by the race that lived on this world. Qui-Gon had barely gotten a message to the Council about the emergency situation, before their ship had been overrun by at large horde of the native race, huge grayish humanoids with hard diamond like skin and strange slitted eyes. They had broken down the very door of the ship with stone clubs, and it was obvious by their reaction to the stranded Jedi they hated and feared any foreign species.

Qui-Gon’s second mistake was not fighting them outright then and there. Always, Qui-Gon sought to talk, to _reason_ , to make the other understand, and only fight when there was no other choice. And while he obviously knew Obi-Wan was a tremendous fighter in combat, he still feared for his Padawan with the overwhelming numbers of these aliens. For Qui-Gon always accepted that on missions _his_ death could be near, but he did _not_ accept it for Obi-Wan.

So Qui-Gon had put his lightsaber down, and he had _hoped._

For once, Qui-Gon’s gamble had been _wrong._ His willingness to _negotiate_ , his willingness to _talk_ , was seen by this suspicious race as yet another sign of deviousness. They had been dragged to the nearest settlement, to stand before their chieftain, and not knowing their language, Qui-Gon had tried to reach out his consciousness with the Force. This had been yet _another_ mistake, as these beings knew little of the Force, and seemed to consider it only as evil magic. His attempt to even connect with their minds was seen as sorcery, an attempt to twist their minds. The chieftain was soon standing up and shouting out guttural orders in their language and violently gesturing for them to be killed.

At that moment, Qui-Gon had used the Force to pull his confiscated lightsaber from one of them, and had illuminated his blade.

He would do battle, rather than be just led out to die.

But perhaps suspecting such a move, one of the warriors around Obi-Wan had struck Obi-Wan hard with a stone club, so that Obi-Wan had collapsed, unconscious, on the floor.

Qui-Gon knew in that terrible moment that if he tried to fight, the warriors surrounding Obi-Wan would proceed to beat his Padawan to death.

Qui-Gon, without hesitation, put his lightsaber down.

Still, his courage had perhaps bought them _something_. Either because Qui-Gon had shown he would fight, or perhaps killing someone unconscious was no sport, their leader had apparently decided that they would not be just led out to be summarily executed. Qui-Gon managed to make out that the chieftain and his main body of warriors seemed to be saying they would not kill the Jedi today, but that they would be brought out to battle a great force of the Pyadeans the next day.

Qui-Gon was grateful for the reprieve, however brief, for he was desperately trying to find a way where _Obi-Wan_ would not die. For _himself_ , he did not care.

They had been shoved into a cell, Qui-Gon going willingly as he feared for his unconscious Padawan. The cell was at least clean, with a primitive light, and there was a stack of dry grass which was a sort of pallet-bed to lay upon.

It seemed that by his courage Qui-Gon had won some of the grudging respect from the guarding aliens. Being very careful not to use the Force, but only his ability to mimic and read other’s body language, he managed to indicate that he would need some water, and some suet for Obi-Wan’s head, in case his wound needed dressing. To his surprise, they brought both quickly and without demur.

The guards _were_ a little confused, however, when Qui-Gon indicated he needed some more dry grass to make up a second pallet. After a few very awkward moments he realized the Pyadeans knew nothing of other races or their genders, and certainly nothing of Jedi or their customs, and had assumed that Qui-Gon’s devotion to Obi-Wan was because Obi-Wan was their equivalent of a mate. They assumed he would want to sleep beside his mate, so they were a little puzzled at his request.

Despite everything, this misunderstanding made Qui-Gon want to _laugh_. He could not explain to these people the custom of Master and Padawan, and perhaps, he thought, there was some strange _truth_ to what they assumed.

In any case, he gave up on making up a second pallet, but managed to get their equivalent of a blanket—some sort of scaly hide, and a few mostly clean strips of hide to clean Obi-Wan’s head.

When they finally left him alone with Obi-Wan, sprawled on the pallet, Qui-Gon had examined the head wound. Thankfully, it did not need any dressing, as it was not an open wound, but a dark bruise against his fair hair. Qui-Gon gently rubbed his Padawan’s head, actively healing him with the Force.

It seemed only a few moments before Obi-Wan’s bruise was fading, and his eyelids fluttered.

“Master?” Obi-Wan asked groggily. He was still confused for a moment, but the healing began to take its full effect, and his blue eyes became sharp and clear again.

Qui-Gon quickly moved his hands off his Padawan, and stood up, making it seem as if he was only stretching his legs.

“I remember—I remember you _fighting_ —“ Obi-Wan said.

“They clubbed you on the back of the head,” Qui-Gon replied, matter of factly.

Obi-Wan delicately touched the back of his head. He understood immediately what Qui-Gon had done.

“ _Thank_ you,” Obi-Wan said.

“It is nothing,” Qui-Gon said, not meeting his eyes, “The Master should always take care of the Padawan.” He then let out a short, bitter laugh, “I have _certainly_ taken care of you now.”

At Obi-Wan’s confused expression, Qui-Gon added, “Our being imprisoned is only a reprieve. We are to be led out tomorrow, to do battle with, from what I was able to make out, a vast amount of their number.”

Obi-Wan sat up expectantly, still rubbing his head.

“You should lie down,” Qui-Gon said gently, “And _rest_.”

“And you?” Obi-Wan asked. It was an innocent question, but nevertheless, the fact that there was only one pallet in their prison, perhaps in conjunction with the confusion from the Pyadeans of what Obi-Wan was to him, including their assumption of them lying together, made Qui-Gon strangely uncomfortable.

“I’m going to stay up, and think of plans to keep you alive,” Qui-Gon said shortly, “You should rest. I will awake you before the dawn.”

“We may both die tomorrow,” Obi-Wan said suddenly and unexpectedly. His voice was utterly without fear and he said it merely as a statement of fact.

Qui-Gon wished he had not said that. He could not lie to Obi-Wan, but he did not want to deny Obi-Wan hope. He was so _young_.

Qui-Gon could not bear to think of it. His _own_ death, yes. But _never_ Obi-Wan’s.

Obi-Wan waited for an answer. In the end, Qui-Gon could not lie.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon said.

“You don’t _need_ to protect me,” Obi-Wan said, suddenly rising up from the pallet, looking into his Master’s eyes. “I’m _not_ a boy.”

“The Master should always protect the Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, almost automatically.

“I’m _not_ a boy,” Obi-Wan repeated, a little more emphatically, taking a step closer to Qui-Gon, “I have told you that, before.”

“Of course you are not a boy. You are a young man,” Qui-Gon agreed quickly, uncomfortable with how close his Padawan was now standing to him.

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment.

“Do you remember when I last told you I wasn’t a boy?” Obi-Wan asked abruptly.

“You tell me that a _lot_ —“ Qui-Gon said, attempting a joke.

“The Sokrateion. The night I _kissed_ you,” Obi-Wan interrupted him.

Qui-Gon, despite everything, was shocked at the direct way Obi-Wan spoke of what they had seemingly silently agreed _never_ to speak about.

Obi-Wan was now _very_ close. It was strange, because to have him close it was obvious that he _was_ no longer a boy, as Qui-Gon could see how much he had grown, and how he had filled out in his frame. Despite being lean, it was now obvious he was a young man. At the same time, there was the conflicting ache of tenderness, as if Obi-Wan was still terribly young, for he was still considerably shorter than his Master, and Qui-Gon could see the part in his fair hair. Qui-Gon had a sudden irrational desire to kiss Obi-Wan at the top of his head, right at the part, in a mixture of tenderness _and...something_ else.

“As we are to die tomorrow, nothing matters,” Obi-Wan said bluntly. “I know that you _don’t_ want me, and that you would _never_ want me—even if I _wasn’t_ your Padawan. I can tell by how you acted when I kissed you, how you refused to even speak of it afterwards. I realize now how _revolted_ you must have been, and how hard it must have been for you to be kind when you pushed me away.”

“It is never hard for me to be kind to you,” Qui-Gon said uncomfortably, remembering his reaction to Obi-Wan’s kiss. He dared not correct Obi-Wan’s incorrect assumptions.

Obi-Wan looked away, apparently unable to meet his Master’s eyes, and said, awkwardly, “I don’t know if you are repulsed because I’m a _male_ , or because it’s just—just _me_ , and you don’t find me attractive.”

“It’s not about you being attractive or not attractive,” Qui-Gon said, almost as awkwardly.“You are my Padawan.” Qui-Gon had fallen back on the basic truth, as it was safer.

Obi-Wan smiled, tinged with bitterness. “You are always _so_ kind,” Obi-Wan said, “I could bear your honesty, if you want to be _cruel_. I _can_ bear the truth, as I understand it better than you know. But what I _cannot_ bear is to _not_ kiss you again. Tomorrow I will die bravely, like the Jedi of old. I _accept_ my death. But I can die easier if I can just kiss you _once_. _Please._ One _last_ time.”

“If we are to die tomorrow, Padawan, we must die as Jedi,” Qui-Gon said stiffly. But the words sounded empty even as he said it.

“You don’t _really_ believe that,” Obi-Wan said, “Or if you do, it’s more _complicated_ than that. You have compassion for _everyone_. Even if you don’t love me more than anyone else, you _do_ love me. I know you don’t _want_ my kiss, but couldn’t you just have _mercy_ on me, the same way you have _mercy_ on everyone else?”

Qui-Gon could not answer.

Obi-Wan took yet another step closer. His face was distraught, full of pain, his eyes hungry. “Won’t you _let_ me kiss you?” he pleaded softly, “I know you don’t really _want_ my kiss, but I promise, this time will be _better_. I’m _not_ drunk, and I’ll be less clumsy. At least it will be less _hateful_ to you—“

“ _Nothing_ of you is hateful to me,” Qui-Gon’s words, barely above a whisper, and coming very close to the truth. He then cleared his throat, uncomfortably, and attempted to be firm. “But I am your _Master_ ”

“You are _always_ my Master,” Obi-Wan said significantly.

“I am your Master,” Qui-Gon repeated, “ _And_ your teacher. Anything else would be _wrong_.”

“I know what I ask for is _wrong_ ,” Obi-Wan said flatly, “It’s just that I will probably die tomorrow, and I have never loved anyone.” Then he added, very quietly, “Except _you_.”

It was the first time Obi-Wan had ever said it.

Qui-Gon had been struck mute. At this confession, Qui-Gon was uncharacteristically clumsy with words, and struggled for an answer.

“I love you, as well, my Padawan. You _know_ that.”

Obi-Wan smiled tightly, as if he had been stung. “But it isn’t _really_ the same, is it? You have love for _everyone_.”

“That takes nothing from you.”

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan said, looking down again. He added, after a moment, in a low voice, “Yet you have given to others, what you cannot, or will not, give to me. You have had lovers, and have given yourself _fully_ to others. But the night before I am to die, you will not give me a single kiss.”

Qui-Gon’s gaze went to Obi-Wan’s mouth. Obi-Wan’s mouth looked very soft. Something about that made Qui-Gon irritable. “The mistakes I made were just that-- _mistakes,”_ Qui-Gon snapped, “I was foolish, young, lonely, and _very_ stupid. But despite all my mistakes, I never did anything with any of my Padawans. I never even _thought_ of it. That is utterly forbidden, _apechthema._ ”

The harsh unforgiving word rang out between them. Obi-Wan’s eyes opened wide and his head rocked back as if Qui-Gon had struck him. He suddenly turned away, almost as if he stumbled, and collapsed back down on the pallet. He was silent for a moment.

“I-I understand,” Obi-Wan finally said, his head bowed.

Qui-Gon could not see his face, so it took a few moments before Qui-Gon realized that Obi-Wan was crying a little.

Qui-Gon was astonished. Obi-Wan _never_ cried in front of anyone, not even as a boy,for he had always striven to be utterly perfect, and had considered such lack of control unworthy of a Jedi.

But he was crying now.

 _He is in so much pain,_ Qui-Gon thought. He fell to his knees beside the pallet. It seemed for a moment that Obi-Wan was going to angrily push him away, but then he collapsed into his Master’s arms, his face pressed into his Master’s tunic, his tears wetting Qui-Gon through to the skin.

“So you _do_ cry,” Qui-Gon said, attempting a gentle joke.

“I am _always_ a different person with you,” Obi-Wan said, “Much to my _grief_. I _am_ sorry, Master. I just wanted to be _close_ to you before I die. I have never been close to anyone.”

Gently, insistently, Qui-Gon touched the wetness on his Padawan’s face with his fingers, with infinite tenderness.

“Be close to _me_ , then,” Qui-Gon said huskily. He kissed his Padawan on the forehead, and then his eyes, tasting the salt of tears.

Qui-Gon heard a voice in his mind—it was his old Master, Dooku—telling him that his empathy would get him into trouble. He ignored it.

He looked down at his Padawan, who still wept, his face white and tight with overwhelming pain.

“I never properly returned your kiss,” Qui-Gon said slowly. Then deliberately he leaned over and kissed his Padawan on the mouth. He was very careful to be gentle with Obi-Wan, but he kissed with love and empathy for his pain, and even some of the skill he had acquired from experience. When he pulled away, Obi-Wan’s body was shaking.

“You don’t—don’t find me repulsive?” Obi-Wan’s whispered question, tentative and fearful of the answer.

Qui-Gon’s answer was another kiss, this time more passionate, and now so intense and prolonged, Qui-Gon had to force himself to pull away after a few moments, lest he lose control.

Qui-Gon broke the kiss, but still held his Padawan so closely that he could almost feel Obi-Wan’s heart, beating fast, in his own chest.

“Now you see—I _do_ love you,” Qui-Gon said, his voice low and rough with emotion, “I have already done _too_ much…”

“Not enough,” Obi-Wan said emphatically. He then took Qui-Gon’s hand in both of his own. He then bought his Master’s hand to his lips, and deliberately and tenderly kissed the back of his Master’s hand. He had closed his eyes, utterly focused on this one act, as if he could express all the powerful feelings inside him with a single kiss. Although he did this innocently, without any suggestiveness, there was something about it unbearably erotic that Qui-Gon had to catch his breath, caught unaware by his own rising desire.

Qui-Gon lifted his Obi-Wan’s chin so he could look directly into his face.

“Do you understand where things like that could lead?” he asked gently.

“No,” Obi-Wan confessed, “Not _really_. I have never even tried to kiss someone—other than you.” He then added, significantly, “I never took a lover. _Despite_ your best efforts.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a moment, in guilt. “I only wanted to protect you—I thought it would be _better_ for you.”

“I only wanted _you_ ,” Obi-Wan said, so plaintively that it struck Qui-Gon to the heart. Obi-Wan looked away, shyly, for a moment, and then added, tentatively, “Don’t you know that I _always_ longed for you? Since from before you chose me as your Padawan.”

“ _Obi-Wan_ ,” said Qui-Gon, laughing, but he was _shocked_ , “You were a _child!”_

Obi-Wan laughed back at his Master’s shocked expression. “Not like _that_ , I didn’t understand it like _that_. I didn’t know enough about such things, I think. But as I grew older, I began to understand it. It hurt me. The _impossibility_. But I was never even slightly tempted to break the Jedi Code with anyone… _despite_ my Master’s insistence that I do.”

Qui-Gon laughed, but he could feel the pain in Obi-Wan at the flippant comment.

“I’m _sorry,_ ” he said deliberately, and then leaned in and kissed him again, his hands stroking the softness of Obi-Wan’s hair, and his white throat. His hands were strong, large, and hard with calluses, but very tender and sensitive. Obi-Wan shivered.

“Master,” Obi-Wan pleaded plaintively, “ _Warm_ me.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Qui-Gon said. He pulled off his cloak and laid it on the grass pallet. With a gentle deliberateness, almost as if Obi-Wan was a child he was preparing for bed, Qui-Gon opened Obi-Wan’s tunic, and pulled it off. Obi-Wan lay back on the cloak, as Qui-Gon slowly opened the straps of his Padawan’s boots, pulling them off.

Qui-Gon was struck by a sudden doubt, and his hands hesitated at Obi-Wan’s belt.

Seeing this hesitation, Obi-Wan caught Qui-Gon’s hand, and kissed it. His blue eyes were luminous.

He then took both his Master’s hands and deliberately placed them on his belt.

The Jedi valued modesty, and Obi-Wan by nature was shy and modest about his body, so Qui-Gon had seen very little of it before that moment.

Qui-Gon was struck by Obi-Wan’s beauty. It was the beauty of a young man, definitively male, but exquisitely and sensitively formed rather than robust. His face was chiseled with masculine features but his mouth was soft and full, and his hair was a tousled golden-red against the rough brown cloak. His lean body was very well defined, not bulky with muscle but obviously very strong. His fair skin was strikingly white, luminescent in the dim light. The vulnerable hollow of his throat led to strong, if wiry shoulders, and prominent pectorals, but his chest was hairless, his nipples a rose-brown.

Lower down, his abdomen was flat and well-defined, without any extra flesh, with the hip gutters of hipbones only found in very athletic men, the iliac furrows drawing the eye down to the abundant hair between his legs. A line of this hair extended to his umbilicus, proudly masculine, but hardly darker than the hair on his head, a dark amber honey, and obviously more silky soft than wiry. His penis was considerably larger than one might have expected considering his slender frame, but it was also well-made and beautiful, and was now erect and glistening.

Under Qui-Gon’s gaze Obi-Wan’s hands covered his penis, for he was shy about his obvious erection.

Qui-Gon smiled to himself at this modesty. Kissing Obi-Wan again, he began to gently caress his throat and chest, and moving lower, his abdomen and thighs. Obi-Wan moaned, very quietly.

He carefully moved his Padawan’s hands away, “You should _not_ be embarrassed. Your response is natural.”

Qui-Gon began to stroke Obi-Wan’s penis, first very lightly, but then more firmly and insistently.

Obi-Wan then moaned loudly, throwing his head back, for no one had ever touched him like that, and now his Master, who he _loved,_ was stroking him very expertly and intimately, and the physical pleasure was almost unbearable. It seemed like every sensation in his body was concentrated on the hard stroking on his penis.

In a few moments he shuddered and cried out with a tremendous orgasm.

Qui-Gon cupped Obi-Wan’s penis with gentle hands until the spasms subsided.

Obi-Wan was embarrassed, not knowing where to look.

“I am sorry,” he said, blushing.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Qui-Gon said kindly, “In a way, it is a sort of compliment.”

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t control myself,” Obi-Wan apologized, blushing a little more. His skin was so fair that his blush could be seen in his throat and chest as well. “I-I _tried_. It was just so—so _unbelievable_. I _am_ sorry that I was not _perfect_ for you—“

“You _are_ perfect,” Qui-Gon said, kissing him on the forehead. He got up for a moment to carefully wipe his hands with the bandages left in his room.

Qui-Gon then lay down next to Obi-Wan on the pallet, pulling the blanket over them both. He held Obi-Wan close, and stroked the softness of his hair.

“Why don’t you sleep now, a little, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon suggested.

Obi-Wan turned his head he could look his Master directly in the face.

“But Master—“Obi-Wan protested, “what about _your_ pleasure?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “I have pleasure in seeing _your_ pleasure. It is enough.”

“But I _want_ to pleasure you.”

“It is not necessary, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said firmly.

“I-I do not understand.”

“I would leave you as you are,” Qui-Gon said, shortly, rolling over onto his back. Sensing rather than seeing Obi-Wan’s hurt expression, he added, less harshly, “I wanted to relieve your tension. I thought it would— _relieve_ you. But if we did more, we would be having sexual relations together.”

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment.

“You mean, you would take my innocence,” Obi-Wan said slowly.

“Yes.”

“But I _want_ you to.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Qui-Gon said firmly, “You don’t fully understand these things.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, Master, it is _you_ who do not understand these things. I am _yours_.”

Ob-Wan’s hands went to his Master’s tunic, and he began to open it, fumbling a little with the fastenings in his shyness and inexperience.

Qui-Gon caught his hands. “ _Please,_ Obi-Wan. I am _trying_ to resist you.”

Obi-Wan shyly leaned in and kissed his Master on the mouth. His mouth was very soft on his Master’s.

“Please. Let me at least _see_ you. Just once. I _need_ to see you. That’s all. _Please_.” He pulled his hands out of his Master’s and began to open his Master’s tunic again. “ _Then_ I’ll stop.”

Qui-Gon’s body was also very handsome; the body of a mature man, the constant strenuous physical activity keeping his body hard and well defined despite his age. He was more strongly built than his Padawan, broad-shouldered and more heavily muscled, and very long limbed. He had a few white scars from severe injuries that even the bacta-tank had not been able to fully heal, one along his right forearm, another one on that same shoulder, and one on his left thigh. The one near his left thigh was close to Qui-Gon’s now fully erect penis, which was surprisingly large.

“You are _beautiful_ , Master—“Obi-Wan sighed.

“Am I?” Qui-Gon asked, with a smile.

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan touched the white scar on his Master’s forearm with a delicate hand, as if it was still an open wound.

“How?” There was so much of Qui-Gon’s life before that he did not know.

“Old battles.” Qui-Gon said, sensing his feelings, “None of that matters. If we live, I will tell you of it—another time.”

Obi-Wan kissed each of these white scars, his kisses very soft and innocent, but Qui-Gon shivered. As he kissed the one on his left thigh, close to his Master’s considerable erection, Qui-Gon made a wordless sound of pleasure, but tried to gently push him away.

“We must stop. _Now_.”

“Let me touch you—“

“ _No_.”

“I _love_ you. I want to give you pleasure.”

This statement of his love made Qui-Gon groan with desire as much as Obi-Wan’s kissing had.

“ _Please_ , Obi-Wan.”

“Teach me about sexual relations,” Obi-Wan said very softly, and then added, shyly, “About…making love.”

“ _No_.”

“Don’t you love me?”

“ _Yes_.”

Obi-Wan kissed him hungrily, this time his mouth less gentle.

“Then _teach_ me, the same way you taught me everything else.”

Obi-Wan’s hands went to his Master’s large penis. He caressed it, his hands inexperienced but very sensitive, and Qui-Gon shivered.

“Let me _pleasure_ you, Master,” Obi-Wan said quietly, continuing his light deliberate stroking.

“ _Please_ …” Qui-Gon said, closing his eyes, though it was unclear if he was asking Obi-Wan to continue or for him to stop. His hands reached out blindly, perhaps to pull away Obi-Wan’s hands from his penis, but as Obi-Wan continued his rhythmic stroking, now a little more firmly, Qui-Gon abandoned his resistance to the tender but insistent caress, and his hands fell back down to his sides. Obi-Wan smiled.

Obi-Wan leaned over, stopping his caress for a moment so he could kiss his Master on the mouth and in the hollow of his throat. He kissed his Master’s pulse very gently and reverently, his face thoughtful, and slightly troubled.

“Obi-Wan…?”Qui-Gon asked, opening his eyes, his expression one of concern. “What is it?” His hand reached out and stroked his Padawan’s fair hair, “I’m sorry. Is what we are doing now— _upsetting_ you? I should _not_ have let you—“

Obi-Wan shook his head, never lifting his gaze from Qui-Gon’s throat. “ _No._ It is not that. It is just…" he paused for a moment, blushing a little, again, before awkwardly admitting, “I am embarrassed at my _ignorance_ , Master. I do not even know how to ask…everything in the scientific texts I read is about reproduction,” he took a breath, and then blurted, “Is this kissing and caressing that we are doing _everything_? Is this _everything_ men do together when they make love?”

Qui-Gon hesitated a moment, uncomfortably, before answering.

“No.”

It was as if Obi-Wan he had been thrown into an icy river, despite his desire, for he was hot and cold all at once. Hearing that awkward pause, the hesitation before speaking, he realized his Master’s knowledge about sexual relations between men was not merely theoretical.

“You have done this before. With a man.” It was a statement, not a question, and his voice was tight with jealousy.

Qui-Gon sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Yes. With one other. But it was long ago.”

“I see," Obi-Wan said implacably.

“You know that I have had sexual relations.”

“ _Yes_. But I thought it was exclusively with women.”

“I never said one way or the other—“Qui-Gon blew out his breath, “And what difference does it make, man or woman, either way I am no innocent.”

“I thought,” Obi-Wan said very quietly, “that is, I had _hoped_ —that in this way I could be your first.” His face was completely calm, but his entire body trembled very slightly.

Qui-Gon sat up, and pulled Obi-Wan into his arms, “Obi-Wan, it was so long ago—it was before you were even _born_. I can hardly _remember_ —“

Obi-Wan shook his head, “Please do _not_ lie. Did you do— _more_ than this with him?”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon said, and then added tenderly, “I am sorry that my old indiscretions have hurt you, Obi-Wan.” He kissed Obi-Wan lightly on his brow and on the top of his head, in his fair hair, before going on, “If this is disturbing to you, let us rest now, before tomorrow—“

Obi-Wan cut him off, “I want you to do _everything_ to me that you did to him.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, almost imperceptibly, “He wasn’t my Padawan.”

Obi-Wan kissed his Master on the mouth.

“I want to be as close to you as _he_ was. _Closer_.”

Obi-Wan fervently kissed his Master again, to cut off any protest. He kissed his Master everywhere, his throat, his hair, and especially his mouth, kissing lower to his shoulders and chest and then up again, kissing his mouth once more. His hands were everywhere on Qui-Gon’s body, touching, exploring, with an arousing delicacy and innocence.

He moved down and kissed his Master’s thighs, and then, gently, the head of his Master’s penis. His Master’s intense reaction—a loud groan deep in his throat—encouraged him to continue.

He kissed the head, and then the underside, and then along the shaft, caressing his Master’s scrotum with his hands as he did so. He then licked it gently, which made his Master throw back his head in intense pleasure.

He took his Master’s penis in his mouth. His Master’s penis was very large so it was difficult to take most of it in his mouth, but he did his best, for he enjoyed his Master’s reaction to what he was doing. He licked and sucked and kissed and tasted until Qui-Gon’s whole body was tense with desire.

Obi-Wan pulled off so he could come up and kiss his Master once more. He kissed his mouth, his ears, his neck, and strands of his long dark hair.

“Master, is there _more_?” Obi-Wan asked seriously, “I _want_ to please you.”

“There is more,” Qui-Gon admitted reluctantly, “but I do not ask it of you.”

“Ask me. I will give you _anything_.”

“To… _submit_ to me. To let me inside you.”

Obi-Wan had to think for a few moments before he thought he understood what his Master was saying. When he understood, there was no surprise or revulsion. He met Qui-Gon’s eyes, and asked simply, “Would that _please_ you?”

His Master shook his head, “I do not want to do anything that you may regret…”

But that was not an answer.

Obi-Wan kissed him, “You are my _Master_. I want whatever you want.”

Qui-Gon got up for a moment, to get some of the oily suet that had been left in their room. Carefully and deliberately he massaged a bit of the salve between his hands and then along the shaft of his penis.

“This will make it easier, and more pleasurable for you,” Qui-Gon explained, to Obi-Wan’s curious look.

“ _Let_ me,” Obi-Wan pleaded, sitting up from the pallet and reaching for him. He began to stroke his Master’s heavy penis between his hands, slick with the melting oil.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and groaned again at Obi-Wan’s sensitive yet insistent hands on his erection.

“You _should_ stop,” Qui-Gon protested gently, “I _have_ control, but even _so_ —“

“But I _want_ to watch you have an orgasm,” Obi-Wan said, at the same time somehow seeming both completely innocent and utterly shameless. The way Obi-Wan said it, along with his delicate stroking, made Qui-Gon come close to completely losing control.

Qui-Gon carefully took Obi-Wan’s hands in his own, and then lay down beside his Padawan again, caressing Obi-Wan all over his body. His large hands were very gentle, yet he knew what he was doing, and soon Obi-Wan was breathing heavily and trembling. He was shy about meeting his Master’s eyes, for he had become fully erect again from his Master’s touch, but Qui-Gon was tenderly amused that he did not conceal himself with his hands this time.

Qui-Gon inserted a finger inside him. Obi-Wan caught his breath at the new and unexpected sensation. As he began to relax, his Master inserted another finger inside him, opening him for the act. For a while he simply internally caressed his Padawan as he kissed him, until it stopped being uncomfortable and actually a little pleasurable.

Qui-Gon rolled Obi-Wan over on his back and got on top of him, careful to support his weight on his own knees and elbows, and slowly and carefully started to penetrate him. He was so gentle and so patient that although his penis was very large, it did not hurt Obi-Wan, although it was not entirely comfortable.

When Qui-Gon was fully inside him, he kissed Obi-Wan again.

“Are you okay?” Qui-Gon asked, looking into Obi-Wan’s face.

“Yes…”Obi-Wan said, putting his arms around his Master. He was _happy_. Obi-Wan kissed his Master’s face everywhere he could reach. Qui-Gon’s long hair was a curtain around him, and he kissed the silky strands, and twined them in his fingers.

Qui-Gon began to thrust inside him, at first extremely slowly and delicately, but gradually, he began to thrust faster and harder, and he was very skilled, for soon it was not only tolerable but also intensely pleasurable in a deep vulnerable way to be penetrated thus.

And through their bond in the Force, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon could share in each others sensations, and so Obi-Wan was overwhelmed with pleasure, for he had not only his own pleasure, but that of his Master, and he knew Qui-Gon shared in these sensations and it made his pleasure greater still. And there was between them a delicious friction that went up and up and up.

And Qui-Gon shifted his weight to one elbow, freeing his other hand to touch Obi-Wan’s penis as he thrusted inside him. And now Qui-Gon showed his skill and experience in pleasuring a lover for each time Obi-Wan almost came to orgasm, Qui-Gon would continue to thrust but stop caressing him, until Obi-Wan’s need to orgasm slightly subsided, and then Qui-Gon would begin to caress him again with the same unrelenting rhythm.

He did this over and over, holding back his Padawan’s release until Obi-Wan’s body shook with tension, and his breath came hard, in short gasps. Obi-Wan cried out and clung to his Master, beyond all coherent speech, beyond anything except his love and need.

“Master…please…”he moaned, “ _Please_. Please _let_ me. I _need_ —“

Qui-Gon kissed him, deeply, and began to caress Obi-Wan’s penis with the same hard rhythm that he was penetrating Obi-Wan’s body. And now he did not pause, but continued on and on, relentlessly, not roughly but without mercy, and Obi-Wan was moaning and trembling, one leg now shamelessly wrapped around his Master’s hip, the other twined around his Master’s thigh. Qui-Gon continued his stroking and his thrusting, driving his Padawan to greater and greater heights of pleasure until Obi-Wan, crying out, finally came, his whole body weak and shaking from the powerful sensation.

Qui-Gon, who had learned to deny himself release through control learned from experience and years of Jedi physical discipline, was finally overwhelmed when he saw that Obi-Wan had come, so he came as well, in shuddering spasms deep inside Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon just lay inside him for a few minutes, kissing his brow and the softness of his hair. Then, gently, he withdrew from inside Obi-Wan but he continued to hold him close and kiss him. Obi-Wan was crying again, the wetness spilling from his eyes and down his cheeks.

“Did I… _hurt_ you?” Qui-Gon asked gently.

“No…”Obi-Wan said, “Not at all. It is just… _too much_.” His blue eyes met his Master’s, and he smiled. It seemed to Qui-Gon that his beautiful eyes were not reflecting the dim oil light in the room, but had a luminescence all of their own.

He took Qui-Gon’s hand, and gently kissed the palm.

“Thank you, Master,” Obi-Wan said solemnly, “I enjoyed learning about sexual relations from you very much.”

Qui-Gon burst out laughing to hear such a formal speech, but he thought that perhaps he should have expected such from Obi-Wan.

He squeezed Obi-Wan tightly and kissed the tears that overflowed and spilled unheeded over his Padawan’s cheeks, as if they were welling from some old forgotten source deep inside.

“You are very welcome. Although I perhaps should thank _you.”_

Obi-Wan shook his head, burying his face in his Master’s hair. Perhaps he meant to dry his tears there.

“….never…” he said, and then said something that was strange, as he was crying, and they were to die tomorrow.

“I have never been so…happy…” he said.

Qui-Gon understood.

“Will you stay with me until morning?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I will _never_ leave you.” Qui-Gon promised.

Obi-Wan’s body was trembling with emotion, so Qui-Gon just continued to hold him, saying nothing more, warming him with the heat of his own body, and stroking his hair, until they both fell into a deep and contented sleep.


End file.
